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<title>Kitchen Talk by pepsicoughdrops</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206378">Kitchen Talk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicoughdrops/pseuds/pepsicoughdrops'>pepsicoughdrops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:06:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicoughdrops/pseuds/pepsicoughdrops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>old story I found in my archives abt Osip and Edith from like 2017-2018(?) so I thought I'd post it even tho it's kinda short</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Kitchen Talk</h2></a>
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    <p>"Hey, what are you doing up so late?" </p><p>Osip's head snapped up at the sound of another voice. In the kitchen doorway stood a woman, early thirties, dirty blonde hair, and cream colored skin. She made her way over to the man and sat down on the opposite side of the table. </p><p>"You need some rest Osip, you can't keep doing this," Edith's voice was soft, very motherly. She always talked to Osip, and Julian, like this. </p><p>Osip just kept staring at her, not really knowing what to say or what excuse to use. Edith reached over and took Osip's left hand, the one with the scar on his palm, the one he cut on the window he broke when he was 12, the one he didn't like people touching. </p><p>Osip's arm tensed slightly as Edith turned his hand palm side up, scar now on full display. She started softly humming while running a finger over his palm and scar. A wave of calmness washed over the man as she continued, his arm going lax along with his shoulders. </p><p>"You know you can talk to me Osip, we're family."</p><p>Osip didn't like crying, his mother always hated when he would cry, said it was a waste of time and energy. So he rarely ever did, even years after the incident. But now seemed like a good time to get everything out. Little by little tears rolled down his cheeks, all the while Edith continued to hold his scarred hand. </p><p>Edith got up from her place at the table and made her way over to Osip's side. Leaning down a little, Edith wrapped her arms around his shoulders and continued to hum softly. Osip leaned into the touch, still letting tears roll down his cheeks.</p><p>"You would've liked Tyler, he was a good kid," Edith said softly. She rarely spoke about her son or her husband with the two men, not wanting to upset them or herself.</p><p>"He was always finding new ways to get into trouble as a toddler, but he calmed down when he got older," her voice cracked a bit, even years later she still got upset speaking about them.</p><p>Once Osip had calmed down the two just stayed in the kitchen, enjoying the outside noise of cricket chirps and frog croaks as the sun slowly peeked in through the kitchen window.</p>
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